


I'll Steal What I Can't Have

by Rinari7



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: (probably), Angst, Come Marking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hickeys, I don't necessarily see Sam as we see her in the show acting like this, Marking, Mild D/S elements, Out of Character, Possessiveness, Semi-Public Sex, but those who know me will know it basically writes itself for me, buuut the prompt and I wanted her marking someone up, so this exists, there's a lot of angst, way more angst than probably belongs in a porn battle prompt fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 06:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: Sometimes Jack tries to be careful not to make anyone suspicious. Sometimes Sam aches to show the entire goddamn world he's hers.





	I'll Steal What I Can't Have

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [professortennant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant) in the [FandomRevival](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FandomRevival) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Marking/possessiveness--bonus points for things like hickeys and maybe come play.
> 
> I needed something to get me out of my writing rut and this worked well enough. I've not written for SG-1 before, and I'll admit this was more about the porn than the characters. Completely unbeta'd. I hope it still satisfies (pun not intended).

She attacks him in the parking lot, pushing him against the door of his pickup beneath the dim glow of the flickering streetlamp.

“Carter!” It’s choked, half a whisper, but without surprise. He knew her silhouette, anticipation already coursing through him from the way she looked at him in the locker room: wounded, wanting, withdrawn in her pride and their need for secrecy.

“Quiet.” She tilts her head towards the gate guard post on the far side of the lot, and then presses her mouth to his. It’s hardly a kiss, hard and claiming, and she closes her teeth on his lower lip enough to hurt. He barely suppresses a groan, hands easily finding their place on her hips, tugging her into him. 

She pulls away, pushing him back against the truck again with her hands still on his shoulders. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him the fuck on, how rough she can get, how  _ physical _ . “You know what you did?”

“You tell me, Major,” he drawls, baiting out exactly that flare in her eyes.

“P4Z-Q3X. There was no reason to pair off with her at the festival.” Her words have dull edges.

“I put some kind of claim on you on every planet, people might the wrong idea.” There’s no way to soften the reality they live in, though he tries.

She sets her temple against his cheek, sighing. Her breath feathers over his neck, hot and warm against the chill in the night air. “It’s hard.” She doesn’t need to specify. Too much about them is hard.

“I know.” He wraps his arms around her and holds her to him: a simple hug, meant to comfort, savor the closeness. He can’t help the pressure against his fly.

Then she tilts her head just so, and nips at his neck. 

He draws in a sharp breath. “Carter?”

“I want to see it. And you’ll know, even if they don’t.” Murmured against his skin, before she nips at the same spot, sucks it, laves at it.

She knows how damn sensitive his neck is, what it does to him when she sets her tongue right  _ there _ ; his head falls back against the truck. He has to consciously gather the breath and presence of mind for words. “Carter…” It’s part a question, part a warning, part a moaned plea.

She stops, drawing back just enough to meet his eyes. “What you do in your free time is your business, sir. You’re not obligated to explain yourself.” Polite,  _ almost _ the respectful, deferential Major Carter she is on base. It’s a dare. She  _ wants _ to mark him up.

And God help him, he wants her to. Walking around, secretly showing off how much this fucking brave-beautiful-brilliant woman owns him… “You’re right. I don’t.” He’s fully hard against her stomach, as he offers his neck to her.

He’s not sure how long she takes, sucking and nibbling and tonguing that one spot, and he doesn’t much care. She slips her hand between them, undoing her own fly, but the subtle motion of her hand against his erection is working for him, too. When she slows to breathe, he gradually nudges his fingers along-beneath hers. She’s rubbing her clit; he so easily slides one finger inside her, then a second, and curls them. She nearly keens, biting savagely at his neck to stop herself. He grits his teeth against the involuntary groans of his own arousal.

“Close,” he pants, a warning. She nods hastily, whimpering, and then she’s stiffening and clenching around his fingers and coming in his arms. It brings him right to the edge, watching — feeling — her ride out her orgasm. 

When she lifts her head from his shoulder again, she just looks at him for a moment, languid melancholy and an unabated fire in her eyes. Then her fingers are on his belt buckle and slipping into his boxers. Her hand is still slick with her own arousal and it’s partly that knowledge that makes him come undone with only a few strokes. She watches him, minutely, as he comes on his jeans, her jeans, her hand.

The night’s chill seeps slowly in between them, over heated skin, under clothing that shouldn’t be open to let it in. Shouldn’t be and still is. Slowly, almost a caress, she lets go of his softening cock, bringing her hand to her mouth. She holds his gaze as she licks and sucks his cum off of her fingers.

“You’ve still got —” He reaches out, towards her cheek, a faint sheen where the back of her hand smeared.

“I know.” And it’s a dare again, as she slips her other hand back into her underwear. Her fingertips glisten as she buttons her jeans, as she shows them to him, holding up her hands. Then she drags them over his cheek, warm and wet, and when she get to the corner of his mouth he nips at them, sucks, because it’s been too long since he got a chance to taste.

Finally, reluctantly, he lets go, and she steps back. Once more, she looks him over — and he must look a wreck,  _ her _ wreck, so he doesn’t give a damn. She rocks back on her heels. The set of her shoulders, the ease of her smile, tell him, for a split second, that she is happy. Then she meets his eyes. He can never say exactly when the switch flips, only that it does.

“Have a good night, Colonel.” It’s almost the Carter he knows inside the mountain again — but that Carter has just as much warmth to her voice, he realizes, sometimes, if he listens closely (and he always does). “I’ll see you tomorrow.”   
He leans his head back and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch her walk away.


End file.
